


you're just lines on a sheet of paper

by malikstone



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist!Harry, M/M, barista!louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:26:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malikstone/pseuds/malikstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's been drawing the same face for 213 days, then he meets Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're just lines on a sheet of paper

The face just sort of comes to him one day when he's staring at a blank sheet of paper. Sharp cheek bones and jaw, intense crystal blue eyes, long curved eyelashes, strong shoulders, thin pink lips and golden skin.

So he draws it, paints it, and leaves it. But then the next day, it's the only thing he can think about, so he draws it again, and again the next day, then the next, and suddenly it's been 213 days and the only thing he's been able to draw or paint is that face. There's canvases and sheets of paper and napkins from restaurants hung up and scattered all through out his art studio (which may just be a small spare room in his flat, but it's still just as good) and Zayn says it's getting kind of creepy, that he's almost worried about Harrys mental health.

But Harry isn't. He knows he's fine. It's just this fucking face, it's beautiful, and he's surprised his own mind came up with such a thing. Yeah, he's attached to it now, connected, kind of, but it's really nothing to worry about.

\- x -

He's decided to stop at a cafe on the way to Zayns, standing line going through his phone when he hears "hi, what can I get for you today?" and looks up to have his blood run ice cold.

He stares for a moment, then squeezes his eyes shut and snaps them open to see that he is still standing there. 

"You alright, mate?" the boy behind the counter asks, concern clear in his voice.

"Um, yeah," Harry says slowly. "Have we met before?"

"No, not that I know of," the boy says, smiling prettily. "I think I'd remember those curls."

"Right," Harry nods. "Um, this is probably weird, but - erm, could I come see you some time? Like, when you can actually talk?"

The boy smirks, mischief sparkling in his eyes. "Of course," he says lowly, "I'm off in two hours, you can come by and we could get tea or something, if you like?"

Harry blushes, smiling shyly. "Erm, okay." 

"Great," the boy says, "can I get you anything now though?"

"Right! Um, just a french vanilla coffee please?"

Louis nods, asks his name and writes it down on the cup even though Harry stays at the till until he hands it back full of his drink with a smile. Harry's half way to the door when he hears his name called. He turns back, and the boy smiles at him.

"My name's Louis, by the way."

Harry smiles, nods, and heads for the door again.

\- x -

When he comes back two hours later Louis is sitting at a small square table in the corner. He smiles widely when Harry approaches, and they settle into conversation easily.

"So, there's kind of something I want to show you back at my flat, if that's okay?" Harry asks twenty eight minutes later, palms sweating from nerves.

"I'm not that kind of boy, Harry." Louis teases.

Harry shakes his head, clearing his throat. "No, it's not that. It's just - um - it's kind of hard to explain."

"Alright then," Louis agrees, oddly serious.

The ten minute walk is spent in comfortable silence, even though Harrys nerves are through the roof. Louis will probably think he's some sort of crazy stalker. Not that it matters, really. He doesn't know Louis, it doesn't matter if he never speaks to him again, right?

When they get into Harrys flat, he shows Louis around briefly, introduces him to his cat Max and shows him the dent in the wall by the kitchen from when he got drunk and smashed his head off it when he fell.

He stops at his studio, hand hovering over the doorknob behind him.

"This is my art room, studio, whatever you want to call it," he says, and Louis nods happily. "Just don't freak out okay?"

Louis looks confused, but nods again anyway, so Harry pushes the door open and lets Louis step in. 

He looks around with a sort of awed expression, and the lump of nerves in Harrys throat feels like it's the size of the moon.

"I really had no idea who you were until today," he explains, watching Louis run his fingers over the painting of him sleeping softly. "One day, I was stuck, just staring at the paper, and this face just popped into my head, so I painted it, and then the next day all I wanted to paint was that face again. From then till now, it's all I've drawn or painted, and today I saw you and nearly had a heart attack."

Louis turns to him, smiling softly. "Sounds like fate to me," he states.

And, well, maybe it is.


End file.
